uma música e a sua letra
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHPuMXgCdUY
The
nightingale is still locked in the cage
The
deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An
old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun
bathing on its dead frozen leaves
A
catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She
dreams of story time and the river ghosts
Of
mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving
harlequins, gigantic toys
A
song of me song in need
Of
a courageous symphony
A
verse of me verse in need
Of
a pure-heart singing me to peace
All
that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All
that great heart lying still on an angel wing
All
that great heart lying still
In
silent suffering
Smiling
like a clown until the show has come to an end
What
is left for encore
Is
the same old dead boy's song
Sung
in silence
All
that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All
that great heart lying still on an angel wing
A
midnight flight into Covington Woods
A
princess and a panther by my side
These
are Territories I live for
I'd
still give my everything to love you more
A
silent symphony
A
hollow opus #1,2,3
Sometimes
the sky is piano black
Piano
black over cleansing waters
Resting
pipes, verse of bore
Rusting
keys without a door
Sometimes
the within is piano black
Piano
black over cleansing waters
All
that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All
that great heart lying still on an angelwing
I
see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with
a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying
to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I
do, but walk by.
An
old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's
half-light and he's in tears.
When
he finally comes his eyes are cascading.
I
see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All
pride has left his wild eyes.
I
wish I had my leg to spare.
A
mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's
never loved him more.
An
obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All
dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly
sweeet perfume deafens me.
She's
going to dinner alone.
That
makes her even more beautiful.
I
see a model's face on a brick wall.
A
statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A
city that worships flesh.
The
1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man
telling his story
It
was you, the grass under my bare feet
The
campfire in the dead of night
The
heavenly black of sky and sea
It
was us
Roaming
the rainy roads, combing the guilded beaches
Waking
up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing
in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked
on some matt-painted island
Clad
in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe
Beyond
all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In
early air of the dawn of life
A
sight to silence the heavens
I
want to travel where life travels,
following
its permanent lead
Where
the air tastes like snow music
Where
grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I
would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I
would bathe in a world of sensation
Love,
goodness and simplicity
(While
violated and imprisoned by technology)
The
thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I
used to experience true love
That
love remains infinite,
as
I'll never be the man my father is
How
can you "just be yourself"
when
you don't know who you are?
Stop
saying "I know how you feel"
How
could anyone know how another feels?
Who
am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore,
politician, wrongdoer?
I
am, you are, all of them already
Dear
child, stop working, go play
Forget
every rule
There's
no fear in a dream
"Is
there a village inside this snowflake?"
-
a child asked me
"What's
the colour of our lullaby?"
I've
never been so close to truth as then
I
touched its silver lining
Death
is the winner in any war
Nothing
noble in dying for your religion
For
your country
For
ideology, for faith
For
another man, yes
Paper
is dead without words
Ink
idle without a poem
All
the world dead without stories
Without
love and disarming beauty
Careless
realism costs souls
Ever
seen the Lord smile?
All
he care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why
do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh,
how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All
you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground
I
see all those empty cradles and wonder
If
man will never change
I,
too, wish to be a decent man boy but all I am
Is
smoke and mirrors
Still
given everything, may I be deserving
And
there forever remains the change from G to Em
